


Caverns Measureless to Man

by SylvanWitch



Series: In the Ruins [4]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: AU post-OotP, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:29:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanWitch/pseuds/SylvanWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many questions are answered.  One very important question is asked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caverns Measureless to Man

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published at RestrictedSection.org in 2004. This is my first fanfiction endeavor. The title of this chapter is from Coleridge's "Kubla Khan."

Severus Snape was in Hades. A demon was bellowing orders to him in ancient Sumerian, and Snape could not respond, his body seemingly anchored to the bed by a leaden weight across his legs. In punishment for Snape's laxness, the demon brought his metal-tipped flog down, across Snape's belly. He writhed and cried out, but to no avail. The demon only repeated the motion, the blood sailing up, glinting in the bright sunshine---

Sunshine? In Hades?

Several things became apparent to Snape simultaneously. One, he was not in hell but in the master bedroom of their temporary safe house. Two, the bellowing demon was actually Dumbledore, who was busying himself with something splashy in the adjoining bathroom and singing what seemed to be a Goblin drinking song. Three, the heavy weight on his legs was a large, black dog who was draped across Snape's lower limbs with its head nestled in the Potions Master's groin. Four, said Potions Master had to take a wicked piss.

Snape tried to say, "Get—off—me!" commandingly, but what came out was a pathetic wheeze, like the sound an empty wine bladder makes when the last of the liquid is squeezed out. An unfortunate analogy, Snape thought, as his own bladder complained with aching insistence.

"Ah, Severus, you're awake. How do you feel, my boy?" At the deep, smooth pitch of Dumbledore's voice, the dog on Snape's lap stirred, raised its head, unhinged its jaws in a great yawn, and then rose and jumped from the bed. The dog landed gracefully, shook vigorously, and then became Black, who grinned widely at Snape, an expression startlingly similar to the one the dog sometimes wore.

"Ducky," Snape said, dryly. He glowered as menacingly as he could from his nest of pillows and then tried to lever himself up on his elbows, a motion that earned him a shooting pain reminiscent of a heated metal file being run just under the skin of his abdomen. Another unfortunate analogy, as Snape had had the dubious pleasure of experiencing that once; Narcissa Malfoy was a creative interrogator, say what one might about her other qualities.

"Now just lie still, Severus. You are not in any condition to be up and about," said Dumbledore, anticipatory placation in his tone.

Black, meanwhile, had come to stand by Snape's left side. "Do you need some help, Severus?"

"What I need is some privacy," he replied, giving Black a look that would make the Dark Lord himself flinch.

Black, uncowed, merely chuckled. "Now, now. You don't want to be a difficult patient, do you? Or Dumbledore and I will have to tie you down." The gleam in Black's eye at this last was decidedly wicked. It suggested that he'd like nothing better than for Snape to misbehave so that he could inflict just such a punishment.

Dumbledore chose that moment to make his exit, gifting them with a paternal smile from the doorway, where he paused long enough to review the scene and say, "Play nice, children." With a glance that might have made them blush had they been looking, Dumbledore closed the door gently behind him.

Black looked down at Snape and said, with uncanny perception, "Would you like me to help you to the bathroom?"

Snape growled, a sound of infinite frustration at his helplessness, and then said, "Please," tersely.

After a series of painful steps, not a little awkwardness, a healthy dose of embarrassment on the Potions Master's part (at which Black had snorted, Snape-like, and said, "We've seen each other naked; it's hardly the end of the world"), Snape was ensconced once again in the bed, the pillows propped up against the headboard so that he could sit partially upright and not suffer the indignity of being entirely prostrate before visitors. Black handed him another pillow, and Snape quirked one eyebrow, inquiringly.

"If you need to cough, or sneeze, or laugh, or anything that will put a strain on your abdominal muscles, hold that against you. It will help support the wounded area and lessen the pain."

Snape looked thoughtfully at Black and then said, "You've had some experience?" He left it as a question. Black shrugged, "A lot can happen in twelve years." He didn't seem inclined to say more.

They spent considerable time, then, in companionable silence, Snape in the bed, Black in an armchair pulled up to Snape's right. Molly Weasley appeared briefly to deliver breakfast for the pair, stopping only long enough to murmur inquiries as to Snape's health and receive the standard reply. They ate in silence, and when the meal was done and the dishes cleared from the bedside, Black said,

"I thought that you were going to die." He strove for an observational tone and nearly hit the mark, his voice quavering only on the last word, so minor a change in inflection that only someone who was listening for it would have heard it.

"Please. Not more melodrama," Snape scoffed, waving one hand idly in a supremely dismissive gesture. "I did not die, but I will someday, likely soon. Better that you reconcile yourself to the notion now." Snape delivered this pronouncement airily, as though predicting a sudden summer shower, and Black's anger rose into his face in a flush of hot blood.

"Damn you, Snape! Your blood was everywhere. It took Molly almost an hour to conjure it all out of the carpet on the stairs, and the bedding was a complete loss. Not eighteen hours before I had been bathing that belly with my tongue, and suddenly it was laid open before me like some awful feast. Did you know that muscles shine like opals in the candlelight?" He stopped himself when he heard the plaintive note rising in his voice. He would give Snape no more reason to be cruel.

There was a telling stillness from the bed, but Black would not look up from where his eyes had fastened to Snape's left hand, where it rested on the coverlet. Then, the object of his fixation moved, reaching out to touch Black's jawline, the most fleeting of caresses.

Black looked up to find that Snape was staring intently at him with smoldering black eyes. Sirius could not tell what the Potions Master was thinking, but the heavy weight of Snape's full attention pulled at him until he found himself, suddenly, leaning forward, one hand supporting himself on the bed, the other moving gently over Snape's right cheek. Black kissed Snape's mouth, nipped at his lips delicately, urging him to part them so that he might enter, to explore the satiny recesses of Severus' mouth with his own wet tongue. Black ran a rigid tongue tip along the roof of Snape's mouth, tickling the sensitive skin there, and Snape choked on a laughing moan that changed to a frantic gasp in the middle.

Black pulled back immediately, realizing what he had caused, apology already on his lips, where Snape caught it before it could fall, one long finger a line of denial.

"Don't."

A pause.

"And...thank you." Said in a tone that suggested there was little more to say, and even if there were, it would not be said by this man. Sirius recognized it for what it was.

"You're welcome." Black kissed Snape again, carefully, a gentle molding of lips that threatened to once again deepen to something dangerous and wonderful, when a cough at the door drew them away from one another, startled. They had not heard the door open.

"I have the others here, Severus. I should like to have the 'debriefing' now, if you are up to it." The Headmaster's face was kindly, but his jaw set with a line of determination rarely thwarted. 

Sirius shifted as though to rise, on his face protectiveness and anger in equal measure. Snape stopped him with a hand on his wrist. 

"Of course, Headmaster." Snape's use of the title was deliberate. If Albus chose to pull rank, even indirectly, Snape would remind him that he did not appreciate being ordered. 

Albus entered, followed closely by Molly, Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Hagrid, who had to bend his length nearly in half and enter sideways to fit through the narrow doorway.

"What, Miss Lovegood was otherwise engaged?" Snape asked, sarcasm dripping from his lips. He did not like being at a disadvantage under the best of circumstances, and now he was bedridden, forced to stare up at the wizards and witches who had crowded into the suddenly small room. Dumbledore, as though sensing Snape's discomfort, quickly transfigured the nightstand and a standing lamp into chairs. Sirius chose to remain at Snape's side, sitting on the bed. Molly moved into the armchair that Sirius had earlier vacated. Albus chose one of the two new chairs, Shacklebolt took the other, Tonks perched herself on a stool she had dragged from the bathroom for that purpose, and Hagrid, who was far too large to fit into any of the furniture available, leaned in the doorway. They made a ragged half-moon, Snape at the center.

"In answer to your question, Severus, Miss Lovegood is still unconscious, but we believe that she'll be back with us in the near future. The poor thing has had quite a terrible few days."

"Really?" Sarcasm layered on the word like tiers of a bitter cake. 

Albus cleared his throat. "Shall we begin?" A flurry of nods. "Nymphadora, you have always had a delightful knack for storytelling. Will you begin?"

What Tonks related, and Sirius confirmed, was that Diagon Alley was being held by a loosely organized group of Knockturn Alley traitors who had been promised great rewards for their part in betraying the wizards and witches in Diagon Alley. Four Death Eaters, at the head of whom were the senior Crabbe and Goyle, were keeping order among the profligate irregulars. The citizens of Diagon Alley were under house arrest, and those that had been visiting were quartered in the pubs and restaurants that lined the street. Ollivander's was sealed up tight with protective wards, and there were always two guards in rotation. All magical members of the community had been stripped of their wands and these, too, had been placed inside Ollivander's heavily fortified store. "The enemy are twenty, altogether, including the Death Eaters. And there's trouble in the ranks. I heard one pair of traitors, on patrol, complaining about not being able to get into Gringotts. Seems the goblins have it so heavily defended that no one can get near the place. Apparently, the Knockturn people were promised free access to the vaults. You'd think they'd have known better. Not even Voldemort has the power to breach the Goblins' defenses." Tonks had incapacitated the two disgruntled men, divesting one of them of his "insignia," which in this case had consisted of a long remnant of green silk, torn from someone's curtains by the looks of it, worn across his chest, banner-like. Sirius, meanwhile, had gone nosing through the refuse in the gutter; as there were several animals wandering aimlessly up and down the street, no one noticed him at all. "They aren't smart enough to consider the possibility of an animagus or familiar among the strays. Fools." Prompted for a final analysis of the situation, they shrugged in synch and Tonks said, "If we can get wands into the hands of a few key players, I think that they could do the rest for us. Viva la resistance, and all that." She gave them a saucy grin and settled back into her seat. Sirius merely nodded his confirmation.

Albus turned his weighty gaze, then, to Shacklebolt, who reported on his activities at the Ministry with Snape. They had made their way in by the tunnel Dumbledore had suggested; no one impeded their progress. Once inside, they found themselves near the Apparation Test Center on level six. They saw no one as they walked the long hallway to the stairwell. Deciding that it would be best to discover how the entrance was being held, they climbed up to the Atrium level. Cracking the stairwell door, they beheld a series of shocking sights, not the least of which was the figure of Blaise Zabini, impaled on the upraised golden wand of the wizard that served as the focal point of the Atrium's impressive fountain. "Apparently, Mr. Zabini displeased his master," Snape noted, voice arid as blown sand. Next to the statue there was a warded twenty-by-twenty cage, in which they could just make out two blazing red heads. Molly mewled weakly and covered her face with her hands, shoulders shaking. 

"There were approximately nine people in the cage," Shacklebolt related, his deep voice precise and careful. "We could not definitely identify, at that distance and from that angle, all of the captured, though we did see a bright green suit, which suggests that Minister Fudge may also have been captured." Sirius muttered, "No loss there" under his breath and Tonks attempted to suppress a laugh, only to wind up choking on her gum. Shacklebolt, unfazed, continued. "Alastor Moody was also in the cage. Amos Diggory was guarding it."

There were several startled and outraged exclamations, which Dumbledore calmed. "We should have assumed that there was a traitor in our midst when we heard that the Ministry had fallen. Since the war broke out in earnest, the Ministry has been heavily fortified with highly selective wards, intended to keep out anyone having had any association with the Dark Lord. When I sent Severus on this mission, I knew that those wards had to have been disabled, or there could be no Death Eaters within. Had he been unable to enter, it would have given us valuable information, as well." Snape gave Dumbledore a considering look.

Shacklebolt, urged by a gesture from Dumbledore to continue, said, "There were eight Death Eaters in the Atrium; there may have been more throughout the building, but it seemed that they had focused their attention there. There were pallets for sleeping, dining tables, a field kitchen. It was a regular bivouac, and judging from the voices we could hear coming from the fireplaces in the lobby, they are receiving a great deal of information— orders, status reports, things of that nature. I believe that this is their communications center."

Dumbledore nodded, "That would make sense. Did you see any sign of Voldemort's presence there?"

Shacklebolt shook his head, and Snape said, "No. He wasn't there, Albus. Had he been there when my Dark Mark flared, I would still be there myself. The call would have been too powerful to ignore."

Sirius shuddered beside him.

"Our greatest problem at the Ministry is not Voldemort, Albus." Snape paused, perhaps for dramatic effect but more likely because he was having difficulty drawing a full breath to speak. "It is the fact that in command is Narcissa Malfoy; her second-in-command is Bellatrix Lestrange. Together, they are perhaps even more twisted than the Dark Lord himself, and they have several hostages. I do not like their chances, Albus. If he can find a way, Voldemort will use them against us."

Molly mewled again, this time louder, and Tonks rose from her stool to stand beside the weeping woman and comfort her as best she could. Dumbledore cast Snape a reproachful look, but Snape retorted sharply, "She deserves to know what is coming, Albus. You cannot protect her from this." Silence reigned for long, long minutes. 

Finally, Shacklebolt broke the silence again, "We moved down to the floor below, walked its length to the stairs at the opposite end, and repeated this pattern three more times without seeing a soul. The offices were dark and empty, and there were no Death Eaters patrolling the hallways. On level five, however, we detected movement at the far end, near the offices of the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats. Just as I left the stairwell to investigate, I heard a quiet voice much nearer, coming from the International Office of Magical Law. It proved to belong to Miss Lovegood. I thought that I would have to subdue her by physical means to prevent us from being overheard, but she was immediately aware of my position. In fact, she called me, 'Auror Shacklebolt' and asked if I'd like a tea biscuit. She's quite an odd child," he remarked as if to himself. "It seems that she and her father, who edits The Quibbler, had been suspicious of the movement of certain magical objects in the black market, and she and her father had come to the Ministry to 'investigate.'" 

A snort of derision from the bed, "Snoop is the word you are so delicately avoiding, Shacklebolt. She and her father came to the Ministry to snoop." 

Kingsley continued as though he had not been interrupted. "Miss Lovegood's father is in the cage in the Atrium, but no one had expected him to bring Miss Lovegood, particularly at the early hour at which they arrived, and she was in the Ladies' washroom when the attack occurred, where she remained until she felt that it was safe to come out. It seems the Death Eaters have been overconfident of their offensive abilities, for they did not do a room-by-room sweep of the building. There could have been others in hiding, but no one seems to have thought to cast a locator spell. They seem supremely arrogant in their assumption of total and absolute power."

"That has always been their greatest weakness," Dumbledore intoned gravely. "They assume that victory equals totality of power. It is Voldemort's personal blind spot and may, indeed, be the factor that saves us all."

"On the other hand, Albus, it will not do to underestimate the Dark Lord. Though he be arrogant, he is also very powerful, and he currently holds the majority of our resources under his control. He has the added advantage of having used our own people against us—he knows our weaknesses and strengths better than we do right now, and we have no corresponding source of information from within their camp." Snape delivered these points rapid-fire, in a matter-of-fact tone that brooked no argument. He knew whereof he spoke. 

"Are you suggesting that we attempt to place a spy in their midst, Snape?" Tonks asked, veiled interest coloring her voice warmly. She was restless to do something productive, instead of just gathering information and planning their moves. She had never been patient with the details of the missions she had been on and only desired action and results.

Snape shook his head in the negative. "I think we are beyond such machinations now. No, we are limited to the information that we have and can gain."

Albus nodded his agreement, adding only, "We may have further opportunity to get close to the situation at the Ministry, however."

It was Shacklebolt's turn to shake his head, "No, Albus, I'm afraid we have exhausted that avenue of inquiry. Shortly after we found Miss Lovegood, the activity at the other end of the corridor became more vigorous; voices were raised in anger, and we heard at least one curse. We moved back to the stairwell, determined to explore the levels beneath us. Unfortunately, in the meantime, Snape had detected movement from below, and it was determined that the Death Eaters had discovered the tunnel and were laying a trap. Deciding that discretion is the better part of valor, we chose to fight our way out, with the obvious results. Had we been able to kill the attacking Death Eaters and conceal the tunnel entrance, we may have prevented them from discovering our means of access, but given the circumstances under which we were forced to flee, I did not have the opportunity to disable the enemy. They will certainly have closed that access tunnel by now, and they are doubtless acutely aware of their vulnerability to similar incursions. They will not be careless that way again."

The meeting devolved then into speculation, floated ideas, debate over the efficacy of specific plans, and not a few heated arguments about theory and method. Three hours later, Snape was beginning to think that every muscle in his body was directly attached to the healing gash in his belly, for his wound, though closed, throbbed and ached with every breath. As his words left his throat, he could feel his diaphragm resonating vibrations to the spot, radiating dull fire outward in waves. He gave no outward sign of the pain, however, merely holding the pillow more firmly against his abdomen, trying to increase the pressure. He was horrified to discover that his arms were shaking with the effort. He must have made some sound, though he did not think that he had, for Black's head swiveled swiftly, a frown creasing his brow, and the animagus said, "Severus?" softly, so that only Molly heard him. She, too, turned her attention to the Potions Master and frowned at what she saw. 

"Albus, I think it's past time we let Severus get some rest, don't you?"

"What?—" The Headmaster had been discussing the pros and cons of a frontal assault on Hogsmeade with Shacklebolt, and he seemed loath to leave off the debate. Nevertheless, a glance at Snape told him that Molly was right.

"Of course. Forgive us, Severus. I am afraid that we've gotten carried away with planning and had not considered your current state. Shall we adjourn to the kitchen? Sirius, if you will join us, you can report to Severus what he will miss of the discussion." 

After a measured look, Black responded, "I'll be down shortly, Albus." 

A trace of displeasure crossed Dumbledore's face, "We cannot waste a minute of the grace we have been granted. It is only a matter of time before one of Voldemort's familiars finds us or he detects our magical signatures. We must plan and move quickly."

"I hardly think a few minutes more or less will decide the day in our favor. I will be down shortly," he repeated, with emphasis. Snape grasped Black's wrist warningly, and Black whirled on him,

"No, Severus! I am tired of being ordered about as though this were a faculty meeting. Each of us has an equal stake in the outcome of our efforts, and none of us deserves to be treated like a child. Of all of us, you have sacrificed the most since the destruction of Hogwarts, with nary a thanks from this man," Black pointed an accusing finger at the Headmaster, who seemed rooted to his chair, having paled noticeably. Snape made an abortive effort to interrupt, but Black was unstoppable in his righteous indignation. "While you are worthy of respect, Dumbledore, and you are doubtless the most powerful among us, you are not infallible, as should be apparent from the events of the past several days—"

Gasps, a startled "Now, that's enough!" and a deep, angry growl from Hagrid ensued, followed in quick succession by rising chaos as every person in the room attempted to defend or offend at the same time, only Snape's voice absent from the din. The noise masked the sound of a discrete cough from the doorway, but the fey voice that followed caught their collective attention,

"I think that Professor Snape has fainted." Luna Lovegood pointed one pale finger toward Snape's prostrate form. All eyes turned to the Potions Master, none more rapidly than Black's. Indeed, Snape seemed to have fallen unconscious, the deep shadows under his eyes emphasizing the deathly pallor of the surrounding skin. Black cursed himself roundly under his breath and reached out to feel for a pulse at Snape's throat. Satisfied that the Potions Master was sleeping naturally and not in any distress, Black let his breath out in a rush, his head bowed in sheepish self-deprecation. "He's asleep, no thanks to us." He let his gaze linger on Snape's pale features as he said, "I'm—sorry. Really, for all of it. It's just been..." he shook his head again. There were no words for what he was feeling. 

Dumbledore's voice, sorrowful and full of contrition, said, "I, too, am sorry, Sirius. In my desire to save the world I have been too willing to sacrifice those who make it worth living in. You were right to question my judgment. We should, perhaps, endeavor to work in a more—democratic—fashion. We have seen with our own eyes the result of relying too heavily on one man." Everyone in the room knew that he did not speak of the Dark Lord, and Tonks seemed about to protest, but Dumbledore stopped her with a look. "You are right, Sirius, to question me. Indeed, I encourage you all to question me. If we are to be successful, we must abandon the old order and discover new means of defeating our enemies." That said, he rose from his chair, gnarled hands gripping the arms with white-knuckled effort; it seemed that every year of his long age was weighing down on his shoulders, until he had to force them up with an effort that carried a terrible cost. The others, sensing that it was time to leave, turned to the doorway, where Luna still stood, looking even more outlandish than usual in a Muggle nightshirt that read, "Scorpios do it secretly." 

Effectively preventing egress with her slight form, Luna said only, "Wait," and every adult, save Snape, stopped in his or her place, looking at the pale, waifish girl with expressions ranging from curiosity to pity to incisive speculation (this last from Snape, who had woken up when Sirius had risen from the bed). "Professor Dumbledore, sir, may I ask, have you come here for the caves?"

The seeming nonsequitur caught them all off-guard, except, again, for Snape, whose expression had changed from speculative to definite at Luna's words.

"I am afraid that I do not know what you mean, Luna, child," said the Headmaster, kindliness masking a growing impatience to return to concrete strategizing.

"The sea caves, below the cliff face, in town. Can't you hear them moaning from here?"

Silence filled the room as each held his or her breath, straining to listen. Distantly, the thunder of waves against rocks could be heard, a leviathan's heartbeat. Above that, in time with the wind that blew through the eaves of the house, they heard a tremulous keening, as of a bereft mother. They looked at one another in confusion, shrugs and quirked eyebrows indicating their indecision about how to handle the girl.

"What of them, Luna, dear?" Molly Weasley said, in a tone that suggested she had humored many imaginative children in her time.

"They are the Caves of Morrigu," she said, calmly, as though reciting an equation in Arithmancy.

Blank looks from all save one. Dumbledore began, "Luna, dear, while I am sure that this is interesting, we have a great deal to accomplish and short time in which to—"

"Let her finish, Albus," Snape said from the bed, startling everyone except Luna, who had been aware of his scrutiny for some time. 

Wordlessly, the Headmaster turned back to the girl, who continued, for her part, as though she were speaking to a group of ignorant children.

"The Caves of Morrigu, from which the voice of the Bansith wail, are located just above the waterline in the cliff face below town. Morrigu is a Celtic goddess of war and the sea. In later legends, she was transformed into Morrigan, or Morgan le Fey." Noises of recognition, then a few incredulous chuckles.

"Luna, dear, these are Muggle legends, nothing more. What have they to do with wizard kind?" Dumbledore's voice was still warm but with an edge of definite impatience. 

She gave him a long, scathing look, as if to suggest that he had not done his homework. "Surely you, of all people, Headmaster, are aware of how often Muggle legends have basis in some wizarding fact. For example, Merlin, whom we widely recognize as the greatest wizard ever born, is, in Muggle legends, a foolish old man who followed his lust rather than his reason and ended up imprisoned in a tree by Nimue, also known in Arthurian legends as Vivienne. Morrigu predates Arthurian legend by several centuries; she is one of the Tuatha De Danann and is a shapechanger who often appears as a beautiful young woman or a hag. She is also known as the Queen of Ghosts and eventually became associated with the Bansith, or Banshee, to hear whose voice means death to the hearer." Hagrid shuddered, incanting a protective charm under his breath in Gaelic. "Those caves," Luna gestured meaningfully in the direction of the sea coast, "Are said to be the voice of Morrigu. They are believed to be a place of great natural power. That's why this village had such an attraction to pirates, even though they knew the danger of being caught by vigilant townsfolk. The caves drew them, not only as a place to bring their treasure ashore to hide it but also as a center of dark power. Morrigu is a violent deity, and her natural power attracts violent people to her." Lecture ended, she folded her arms demurely and stood waiting.

Snape was the first to speak, slowly putting the pieces together as he named them. "In Muggle legends, this town was known for pirates, but it has also been an attraction for wizards. I came here with my father many years ago. Tonks, too, came as a child; she remembers the pirate stories. You, as well, Black, were drawn to this place. You came here with James, Remus, and Peter in your seventh year at Hogwarts."

Sirius, the light suddenly dawning, said, "Of course! We always thought we must have mistaken the location in our minds when we apparated because we were, well, very drunk. But the natural power of this place is what drew us. It's what drew you, too, Tonks, this time!"

Tonks' eyes were gleaming with excitement, and she was chewing her gum at an almost rabid rate. "Yes! It all makes sense now. We are at war, and this place has somehow become associated with war in my mind. I always thought it was just the pirate stories that drew me."

"It's a sort of subconscious mnemonic device, I would imagine," said Dumbledore, warming to the idea that they had all converged on this place through the design of some greater force and not just by sheer, dumb luck. "You remember the pirates because to remember the goddess' power would be overwhelming. Morrigu wails in her sea cave, calling the warriors to her."

"Why has Voldemort not come to this place, then, if Morrigu's power is increasing in strength?" Shacklebolt asked. There was a lengthy pause as many considered the implications in his question.

Snape, however, was calm. "As Albus has already said, Voldemort is arrogant. Above all other things, he hates the Muggles. He would never credit a largely Muggle legend with having even a grain of truth for the wizarding world. No, we needn't fear his sudden arrival on the scene. He does not hear her voice, only the sound of wind blowing through the caves." 

Luna spoke up suddenly from her place in the doorway. She had neither moved nor changed her dreamy expression. "The legends of Morrigu suggest that she gifts her power to those willing to commit atrocities in her name. Some have even claimed that Vivienne, the great sorceress and water nymph, sacrificed her one true love to Morrigu to attain the sword Excalibur. If there were even a shred of truth in that story, then..." Luna left the adults to come to the obvious conclusion.

Tonks was the one to speak it aloud, "Then it's possible that the cave might offer a weapon of some kind!"

"Which Morrigu will give us out of the kindness of her bloodthirsty heart?" Snape said, voice thick with amused disdain.

Tonks' face fell. "I suppose there must be a catch."

Dumbledore said, "What we have now is only speculation based on myth. Perhaps we should adjourn to the kitchen for further discussion. In light of this new information, we may have more of an advantage than we had first believed. Sirius, you may stay here awhile if you are so inclined. Join us when you are ready. Severus, please get some rest. We need you up and about as soon as you are able."

Sirius merely nodded. Snape said, "Of course, Albus. I will do my best to heal quickly." If Dumbledore noticed the biting sarcasm, he chose to ignore it.

Finally, Sirius ushered out the last of their companions, and he pressed his back to the closed door, letting out a long, relieved sigh. He looked at Snape, whose eyes were closed once more and who seemed to be breathing deeply and steadily. He looked peaceful, Black decided, and without pain. Black moved quietly about the room, transfiguring the two chairs back into their original forms and returning the stool to the bathroom. Quiet as he was, he soon heard, "Will you stop that infernal racket and settle!" said forcefully but without vitriol. Black smiled and came to sit beside Snape's bed, once again in the plush armchair he had put there for that purpose. Leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, he said, "You should sleep, Severus. I'll ask Albus to do another healing charm on your wound later on, but in the meantime, you heard him—rest is your best route to healing." 

"And what will you do while I am 'resting' and 'healing?'" Snape asked, mimicking Black's concerned voice on the two words. "I thought I'd watch you sleep a bit and then join the others in the kitchen."

"I would rather you join me," Snape said silkily, his voice like a caress against Black's skin. The animagus shivered.

"You are hardly in any shape for seduction, Severus," he said, attempting severity but achieving only amusement.

Snape looked at Black, eyes afire with something different than the desire Black had expected to see. There was warmth in the look and something else, something hidden in the depths of the black eyes. Black was unsure, but Snape said, "Come to bed, Sirius. Keep me company until I sleep."

Without another word, eyes fixed intently on Snape's dark stare, Black shed his shoes, trousers, and shirt, and, clad only in tight briefs (zebra patterned, Snape was amused to note. The Muggles certainly had interesting taste), slid beneath the covers gingerly. Lying on his side facing Snape, one arm carefully draped across the Potions Master's upper chest, as far from the wound in his belly as he could manage without choking the other wizard, Sirius looked up at Snape's profile in the afternoon light. He carefully slid upward until he could place a chaste kiss on the corner of Snape's mouth, and said mouth quirked upward in a hint of a smile. "Go to sleep, Severus," Black said. 

"Yes, dear," Snape mocked. And then he was asleep.

*****

The meeting in the kitchen was in full roar when Black made his way back downstairs a few minutes later, having assured himself that Snape was soundly asleep. Gathered around the table were all of the Survivors, as Black had come to think of them, including Luna Lovegood. They seemed to be discussing again the efficacy of storming Hogsmeade. Black sat down next to Tonks and tried to catch the thread of the conversation. The lime-green-haired Auror leaned over and whispered, "Dumbledore wants to save Hogsmeade for a later assault. Hagrid thinks that it could be a 'grea' boon' to have the wizards and witches of the village on our side. Personally, I think it's a little ambitious to imagine the seven of us—eight counting Luna—storming Hogsmeade, but that's just me. Much as I like action, I think we'd—"

While she had been filling Black in, the argument had ground to a halt under the weight of too much supposition and not enough hard fact. Now, everyone was staring at the Auror, whose face turned a bright pink, which strangely complemented the bright green hair.

"Oh, sorry." She said, abashed.

The topic changed, then, to how they might get wands to the key resistance players in Diagon Alley. Shacklebolt and Sirius began exchanging ideas on diversionary tactics and feints in order to get into Ollivander's to retrieve the confiscated wands. This debate, too, rapidly devolved into heated argument, which was only interrupted by a demure, high-pitched cough from the hearth-end of the long table, where Luna had been somewhat isolated from the general discussion.

"What are you planning to do about the others?" she asked.

"What others, dear?" Molly said, the motherly patience evident in her voice.

"The other children from Hogwarts," she said. "What will you do about them?"

Molly choked on a sound in her throat and sat back away from the table, suddenly interested only in breathing without hiccupping sobs.

Dumbledore, his expression infinitely sad and gentle, said, "Luna, my girl. I'm afraid I have some terrible news. Hogwarts has been destroyed and, we believe, most of the children have been killed. I am so sorry, dear, for your—"

"They aren't dead." The tone was matter-of-fact, brook-no-argument sure. Dumbledore's expression shifted to an even more sorrowful resignation.

"Denial will not change the sad fact, child. They have all been killed. We have been able to confirm the death of almost every Gryffindor. The Slytherins are believed to have escaped, all except the unfortunate Draco Malfoy and, as you might know, Blaise Zabini. Though we have not been able to confirm the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw losses, those areas of the school were also destroyed in the explosions."

Luna was shaking her head emphatically. "No, sir. I overheard Malfoy and Lestrange in the Atrium yesterday morning. They were discussing a message they had just received through one of the fireplaces. The children are being held somewhere, as hostages. They were talking about whether or not the children should be fed. Lestrange was in favor of feeding them highly salty foods without benefit of drink; Malfoy thought that starving them for days and then offering them the flesh of the dead would be a more fitting torture." Luna's usually unreadable expression was disgusted. "Those women are not normal."

Dumbledore was startled into laughter by Luna's terse characterization. "Indeed, they are not, child. So the children are alive. Did you happen to overhear anything regarding Harry Potter?"

Sirius' gaze focused on Luna with the sharpness of an incision spell.

"No, sir," she answered. "I was only able to hide in the stairwell for short periods of time. I couldn't risk being captured."

"That's all right, dear. You were incredibly brave, and no one is faulting you for not doing more." Dumbledore offered the comfort offhandedly; he was already pondering the possible locations of the kidnapped children.

Just as the room had fallen into a ruminative silence, the window over the kitchen sink was shattered with a crashing blow, shards of glass driven with remarkable force into the room, to pepper those sitting nearest the window. A huge, frantically beating owl landed on the tabletop, sharp and predatory eyes surveying its surroundings with definite and obvious disdain. Picking its way with care through the glass-covered table, the eagle owl half-walked, half-fluttered to Dumbledore then offered its leg, on which was tied a small scroll of parchment. The owl turned its head away as Dumbledore reached out to retrieve the letter, as though the messenger felt himself far better than the recipient of the message. As Dumbledore freed the scroll, he said quietly, almost under his breath, "Hagrid, seize the bird. It cannot be allowed to get away."

With a speed few believed that he could master given his bulk, Hagrid rose from the table, swept one huge hand over the owl's great beak, the other hand scooping it up from beneath and pressing it against his massive chest. The bird struggled, but its fierce talons were useless, flailing feebly beneath Hagrid's tight hold around the bird's wings and body. He left the room and returned a moment later without the bird. Everyone quirked an eyebrow at him, questioningly. 

"I locked it in the hall bathroom. You may want to stay out of there for a time. 'e'll be a'right eventually, but fer now 'e's hoppin' mad, 'e is."

A sharply indrawn breath from Dumbledore turned everyone's attention to the Headmaster. Sensing that every eye was upon him, the old wizard held up the scroll and read:

To Dumbledore's Pathetic Army:

I know that you have the Boy. Bring him to me in the Hogsmeade village square by twelve o'clock on the day after tomorrow or I will kill every man, woman, and child in Hogsmeade. I will also begin killing one Hogwarts student for every hour that you delay in delivering the Boy to me. 

Your Dark Lord and Master,

Voldemort

Hands shaking, Dumbledore picked up a piece of paper that had fluttered down from the scroll when he had opened it. He handed it wordlessly to Sirius, who was sitting nearest to him, picking glass fragments out of his hair. Sirius took the paper curiously, glanced at it and then again, riveting his focus, eyes widening. "Oh, by all the gods, no..." he breathed, his hand, too, beginning to shake. The picture showed a darkened room, ill-lit by feeble and sporadic wall torches. In the center of the room stood a post, driven into the floor and disappearing upward into the gloomy heights of the ceiling beyond the picture's frame. Tied to a ring fastened to the post above her head was Cho Chang, Ravenclaw seeker. Her long, black hair was matted with gore, her face a death mask, a terrible grimace of agony making a mockery of her formerly beautiful features. She had been tortured intimately and horribly. In the foreground stood Lucius Malfoy, a lupine and satisfied smile on his long, aristocratic, blood-splattered face. He was stroking himself suggestively through his tight, leather pants and licking the blood slowly off the end of a long, wicked blade. At the bottom of the picture was a caption, written in glistening red, "My fun is just beginning. L.M."

"Good goddess, Albus," Sirius finally managed. "If Voldemort doesn't have Harry, who does?"


End file.
